


Funderabe or: The Old Dragon in the Mountain

by Silmanumenel



Series: 52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Brothers Grimm, Consort Bilbo Baggins, Established Relationship, Fairy Tale Logic, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Fluff, Jorinde and Joringel, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5797171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silmanumenel/pseuds/Silmanumenel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there were a Dwarven King and a Hobbit who went on a journey to liberate a mountain from a dragon. To those wishing to hear of their voyage, this tale is humbly presented.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Funderabe or: The Old Dragon in the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> The theme for this week is “A retelling of a fairytale”.
> 
> The fairytale I chose is called “Jorinde and Joringel” and can be found in the collection by the Brothers Grimm. If you’re interested, there’s a brief summary of it on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jorinde_and_Joringel. I’m following the plot and even the wording closely, having translated a lot of it from my German book of Grimms' fairytales. I’ve added a few things and changed others, but the essence is very much the original fairytale, and I was surprised how well it fit Bilbo and Thorin. It might sound quite condensed, but I wanted to preserve this fairytale feeling, and this is what every fairytale I know sounds like.
> 
> The title is also adapted from two of Grimms' fairytales, ‘Funderabe’ could mean something like 'found raven' and comes from ‘Fundevogel’ (‘Foundling-Bird’). The other fairytale is called ‘The Old Woman in the Wood’.

Once upon a time, there was a great mountain surrounded by a dark, thick forest, and in it lived a large dragon, all by himself. His name was Smaug, and he was the last of the Fire Drakes of old. During the day, he turned himself into a serpent, but in the evening he once more became as a dragon ought to be. He had the ability to lure deer and birds to him which he then slaughtered and ate. If someone came to within five thousand feet of the mountain’s gate, they thus had to stand still and were unable to move from the spot until Smaug lifted the spell and freed them. Whereas when a Dwarf entered that sphere of enchantment, Smaug would transform him into a raven and then imprison him in a cage. For the dragon had stolen the great mountain of Erebor from the Dwarves many long years ago and ever lived in fear one might come to reclaim it from him. He had surely seven thousand such cages in the mountain.

Now there once was a Hobbit named Bilbo who might not have been more handsome than other Hobbits, but who was possessed of an adventurous spirit and a loyal heart. He and a noble Dwarf lord called Thorin, the heir to the line of Durin and the rightful King under the Mountain, had become affianced to one another. Their engagement period was a happy one, and they were very much in love with each other. Only one thing had the power to mar their bliss, and it loomed ever on the fringes of the king’s mind.

“How I wish to see my home again,” he would say to his fiancé, “and to return their native land to my people.”

Bilbo was saddened, for although he could not truly understand what it meant to lose one’s home, he wished nothing more than for the shadows to leave his love’s eyes. So one day he proposed to journey to Erebor, to see whether there might not be an opportunity to reclaim the kingdom without incurring the curse. Long they travelled, over plains and under mountains, through woods and along rivers, until they reached the edge of the Dark Forest encircling the Lonely Mountain.

“Beware,” said Bilbo, “that we do not stray too near the gates.”

It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun was shining bright between the trunks of the trees into the dim green of the forest, and a barn owl was crying forlornly from the old beeches. They wandered among the trees, talking quietly, attempting to determine how to proceed, but whether it was the magic of the dragon or the challenges the king habitually faced regarding his sense of orientation, they had soon lost their way. The sun was already sinking towards the Western horizon when Bilbo peered through the bushes and saw the great Dwarven statues flanking the gate, far too close. He was horrified and became frightened to death.

“Amrâlimê,” said Thorin, and his voice was full of ominous foreboding, “I do not think –“

Bilbo looked towards Thorin, but what his betrothed had meant to say he should never learn. Thorin was transformed into a raven who cawed mournfully as he fluttered above the ground. A serpent with glowing eyes slithered three times around him, hissing in malevolence. Bilbo stood as if made of stone, unable to cry, to talk, to move either hand or foot. Now the sun had disappeared. The serpent sidled under a bush, and in the next instant, a colossal dragon towered over the trees, red and black, his scales glittering in the fading light, with great golden eyes and claws sharper than any sword. With swiftness belying his size he captured the raven and carried him away. Bilbo could not move from his spot; the raven was gone.

After a while, the dragon returned and spoke with a booming voice in a language Bilbo could not understand. Then the Hobbit was released. He fell to his knees before Smaug and begged to have his Thorin returned to him, but the dragon said he should never have the Dwarven king back and left. Bilbo shouted, he cried, he pleaded, but all was in vain.

“Whatever shall I do now?”

Bilbo left, and at last reached an unfamiliar town built on a lake, that was called Esgaroth. There he stayed and aided the scribes in the library, but his heart was clouded by grief and sorrow, and ever he yearned for his Izrê and searched for the means to free him. Often he wandered as close to the mountain as he could.

One night he dreamt he found a blood-red flower in whose middle there was a wondrous shining pearl. In his dream, he picked the flower and went with it to the mountain. Everything he touched with the flower was liberated from its enchantment; also he dreamt that he would thus recover his Thorin. In the morning, when he awoke, Bilbo commenced hunting through hill and valley whether he might find such a flower. Long he wandered and long he searched, till on the ninetieth day, far to the East, he found the blood-red flower at the break of dawn. In its centre there was a glimmering stone, iridescent in the colours of the rainbow and shining with an inner light, as big as the most beauteous pearl.

This flower Bilbo carried day and night until he came to the mountain. When he passed the ring of the spell, he was not cursed to stand still, but carried on until the gates. Bilbo was delighted, touched the portal with the flower, and it sprang open. He went inside, through high halls and over wide bridges, hearkening where he might hear the countless ravens. 

At last he heard it.

He went and found the hall, therein was the dragon, among the ravens in the seven thousand cages. When he perceived Bilbo, he became enraged, roared and spewed fire at him, but the flames would not touch the Hobbit, and Smaug could not get near him but for ten feet. Bilbo did not give attention to him and went to examine the cages. But there were many hundreds of ravens; how was he to discover his Thorin again? Whilst he was thus watching, he discerned the dragon furtively removing a cage with a raven and moving towards the door. Quickly Bilbo sprang towards him, touched the cage with the flower and the dragon as well. At once, Smaug crumbled into dust, and Thorin was standing there, as noble as he had heretofore been. He embraced Bilbo tightly and held him to his heart, elated to be free, but not amazed, for he had had utter faith in his Hobbit. They stood thus for a long time, exchanging quiet words and tender kisses, affirming their bond and rejoicing in their reunion.

Then Bilbo returned all the other ravens to their rightful Dwarven forms, and he and Thorin together with their kin and friends began to restore Erebor to its former glory. And Thorin and Bilbo lived long and merry as King and Consort under the Mountain.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Amrâlimê** – Love of mine  
>  **Izrê** – Adûnaic for ‘sweetheart’ or ‘beloved’; I wanted something in Hobbitish, but couldn’t find the right words, so I reasoned that during their Wandering Days, the Hobbits might have adopted Adûnaic words and phrases from the Númenorians they met along the way, and some of those have survived, in place names for example, or as endearments.
> 
> I was very tempted to name this Thorinde and Jorilbo, but it sounded too crackish. Same with calling the flower the “Arkenflower”. It might have fit, and the flower itself does sound like a perfect blend of Hobbit and Dwarven culture. I mean, a flower with a pearl in the middle? I hope you liked it, as it is quite an experiment for me and very different from how I would usually write.


End file.
